September 23 - October 6

Day 1

It’s a long, sleepless, night flight to Amsterdam. Cold in the cabin, under economy-class blankets (they have big comforters in first-class!). The connecting flight to St. Petersburg is shorter and easier, but still no sleep. The day is memorable for a few “senior moments,” all Mike’s (Barb doesn’t talk about hers!). Barb’s artificial hip sets off security alarms twice, necessitating a pat-down each time (just can’t take her anywhere!).

The St. Petersburg airport terminal is small, old, and shabby, like you’d expect in the old Soviet Union, and remindful of the old Minneapolis, Wold-Chamberlain terminal from the 1950s. The bus ride from airport to hotel is long and somewhat depressing, with one gray, drab, and crumbling apartment building after another. No houses anywhere. Signs in Cyrillic lettering become annoying. We pass a giant statue of Lenin at a train station, probably the one he spoke at when returning to lead the revolution (Finland Station). The bus is moving too fast to get a good picture. I’m not in the mood anyway.

We drive the length of Nevsky Prospekt (avenue), and the architecture improves steadily. We finally get to the city’s historic center, and there’s our hotel, the Angleterre. It’s pretty nice, with a close-up view of imposing St. Issac’s Cathedral from our room. The Viking Cruise people met us at the airport and have organized everything, but not dinner upon arrival. Mike’s hungry, Barb not so much. We walk next door to the Astoria hotel to eat. We find out later the Astoria is historically famous. Hitler planned to have his victory celebration there after conquering Leningrad (St. Petersburg). It didn’t happen, of course. The city resisted the longest siege in modern history, nearly 900 days. 1.4 million citizens died, most from starvation. They mixed sawdust with dough to make bread (glad we had dinner before I read all this). Before that, Lenin harangued the multitude from its balcony, and before that, Rasputin was rumored to have had secret dalliances with aristocratic ladies in its rooms (what a guy!). Putin has stayed there, and George W. Bush (uh, OK).

It’s a long meal, and that appears to be the custom. I have to almost tackle the waiter to get served and get the check. Others on the tour eat at the Angleterre, and they don’t finish short of  three hours!

We happily trot off to bed after a long night and day.

Day 2

Up and at ‘em, for our first tour – to the Czars’ Winter Palace, aka The Hermitage, now one of the world’s largest museums of European art. The breakfast buffet at the hotel is lavish. The palace is only a few blocks away, but we are loaded onto a tour bus anyway. Almost all the other people on the tour are OLD, average age I’d guess to be around 70 (…wait a minute!?). It’s cold, in the 40’s. Everyone is bundled up.

Our local tour guide is Olga, a 30ish woman with a serene, imperturbable disposition. Our electronic, audio receivers aren’t working, so I suggest she just talk louder. She tries, but I miss a lot of what she says (Barb can relate). It doesn’t matter much since the best part is just seeing the inside of the palace and the art works. I don’t have to know everything about it. I look out the window and see an expansive square, flanked by a semi-circular, three-story building topped with a dramatic statue of a chariot, driver, and horses. I know I’ve seen it in pictures before, but don’t know what it is. The tour is over in a couple hours and most everyone climbs back on the bus. I want to walk back and shoot some photos. Barb takes the bus.

I stop by a street vendor selling those signature Russian fur hats. You know, the ones with fur all around and flaps that tie up on top. Looks like a beaver sleeping on your head. These are choice, made of fox fur or something like it. I think of buying one until I see another guy shell out $90 for one. I’d look pretty stupid in one anyway.

I walk back through the aforementioned square. It has a towering monument in the center, a marble column with an angel on top. I can’t read the Russian description, but later learn it’s a monument to commemorate Czar Alexander I for his victory over Napoleon in 1812. Later I read the square (Palace Square) has a lot of history, including being the place across which the Bolsheviks attacked the Winter Palace at the beginning of the Russian Revolution in 1917. I walk through the arch in the middle of the curved building (General Staff Building) and onto the streets of St. Petersburg. The sun comes out and it’s a pleasant walk. I have my camera hanging around my neck and Russians are looking at me funny. Gee, do they think I’m a tourist? How do they know? Maybe I should have bought that hat!  I get turned around a little bit and lose my way, but finally see the big statue of Peter the Great which is in a square by the hotel. I’m surprised to see an Irish bar and restaurant as I walk along, one of three we see in St. Petersburg. I guess it’s not so surprising. Ireland is not too far from St. Petersburg, and both peoples like to drink, sing, and dance energetically.

Back at the hotel it’s nap time. Still feeling the effect of that sleepless flight, and we have a ballet to attend in the evening. Early dinner is at the Borsolino Café in the hotel. Breakfast and dinner are included in the tour. The main course is salmon, some form of which is served at most meals, including breakfast. Russians eat a lot of salmon. We sit with a couple from California and another couple from DC.

Following dinner, we board the bus for the ballet. Our guide is a young, local guy, named Sasha. The theater (St. Petersburg Conservatory) is a little shabby, but elegant. You can tell it was once a top venue. It has wooden seats though. The ballet is Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty. As the story goes, a mythical king holds a coming-out ball for his daughter, the princess. He invites all the fairies from the surrounding forest (seriously). However, he neglects to invite one hard-to-get-along-with fairy. She finds out about it, crashes the ball, and poisons the princess (how thin-skinned is that!). But in the nick of time, the top good fairy intervenes and is able to commute the death-sentence to one of just sleeping forever. You know the rest. A prince happens by, falls in love with the comatose princess, and gives her a consciousness-restoring kiss. I expected that was the end of it, but no. There is another 30-40 minutes of ballet celebrating the subsequent wedding. I nod off. On the way back to the hotel, Barb tells me the evil fairy was her favorite character. Huh?

Back at the hotel, we hit the hay, but my sleep rhythm is way off and I’m awake all night. Maybe it’s that evil fairy comment! 

Day 3

Up and at ‘em again, for a full day of touring. Today, the tours are optional, not included in the Viking Cruise package, and you have to pay extra for them. We sign up for two: the Peterhof palace in the morning and a St. Petersburg canal cruise in the afternoon. The Peterhof is about 30 miles out of town, on the shore of lake Ladoga, so the bus ride is a little long. On the way, we pass another of Peter the Great’s palaces, where just a week or so before, President Obama and other heads-of-state were hosted by President Putin at the G8 conference. At the entrance to the Peterhof, a band of four middle-aged men is diplomatically playing American melodies, like “I’m a Yankee-Doodle Dandy, da-da-da-da-da-da!” I tip them on the way out. 50 rubles ($1.50). Can’t resist good diplomacy.

I’m too tired to enjoy the Peterhof much. After a while, traipsing from one gilded and mirrored room to another, while getting a constant earful from the Russian guide, gets a little old. Today’s guide is Galina. She’s wrapped a little tight. I stop her continuous narrative at one point to ask a question, and she’s annoyed. It seems she didn’t know the answer, as she tries three different ones on me. I switch off my receiver later on. The main thing that took some of the charm off the Peterhof was pictures of it at the entrance, showing it immediately following WWII. It had been virtually bombed out, with only some of the outer walls standing. What we were seeing was a large-scale reconstruction.

The main attraction of the place is the dramatic fountains (The Grand Cascade). You’ve probably seen pictures: water pouring from all kinds of gilded statues, in graceful arcs. The fountains are only on at certain times, so we go outside and wait for them to come on. They finally do, but the pictures I’d seen are more impressive than the reality. The pictures were taken on a bright, sunny day, with the sun glancing off the gold statues, and this is a cloudy day. Or maybe it was that there are too many tourists everywhere, getting in the way, or that I’m just too tired to think much of it. Whatever. Several aggressive street vendors flock outside the palace. Barb buys a scarf from one of them, who assures her, in broken English, that it wasn’t made in China.

Back at the hotel, we decide to skip the afternoon canal cruise, even though we paid for it, and I crash again, this time for a 3-4 hour nap. Too bad, because it was the last time we had to do something on our own. The house Dostoyevsky lived in when he wrote The Brothers Karamasov is now a museum, and only about 8 blocks away from the hotel, but we never get there. I also wanted to climb to the top of St. Issac’s Cathedral for a panoramic view of the city, but we didn’t get another chance to do that either. My bad!

Dinner at the Borsolino again that night. Beef tenderloin, with béarnaise sauce. We eat like royalty the whole trip. We dine with Miles and Barbara from Seattle, he a financial advisor and she a CPA. I resist the urge to solicit friendly financial advice.   

Day 4

This is moving day, from the hotel to the river cruiser. The luggage is all moved for us as we climb on the bus again for a St. Petersburg City Tour. There are two highlights on this tour. First, a stop at St. Nicholas Cathedral, not far from the hotel, where we enter during a Russian Orthodox mass. No pews or seats. Everybody stands. There is a rope to cordon off the tourists from the faithful, and the gift shop at the back of the church is open for business, selling icons, etc., in full view of the alter. Despite these incongruities, or maybe because of them, the devotion of the congregation is moving. During the service, some parishioners go up to glass-enclosed icons and kiss the glass. As they leave the church, they turn around, face it, cross themselves three times, and bow. I’m impressed by this scene and all the churches and monasteries we see on the trip. It’s evident that Russia has a strong and pervasive religious tradition. It’s a wonder that the Bolsheviks tried to eradicate it totally, destroying a great many churches and turning the remaining ones into museums. Obviously, they failed in their object. We hear on the trip that religion is now making a serious comeback in Russia via the younger generation. You can’t change human nature.

The second highlight of this tour is a visit to the Peter and Paul Fortress, across the river Neva. It’s also pretty close to the hotel. It’s the site of the first buildings Peter the Great had constructed for the city. There is a prison there where Dostoyevsky was held in solitary confinement for 8 months, jailed for his dissident views. Peter the Great had his son jailed there, for “insubordination,” and he died there. Not much of a family man, that Peter. But otherwise, he was Great! The prison looks like a row house. I see it from a distance and want to get closer, but apparently there’s not enough time and the tour guide wants us to board the bus.

St. Petersburg was built by design and “by hand,” out of stone, and in an area of water, islands, and marshes. It was a difficult engineering feat, and the labor was provided by soldiers, prisoners of war, and serfs. Many of them died in the process, “tens of thousands” by one estimate; so many that the city is said to be “laid on bones.” As we eventually learn, it’s just one of several massive, historic, Russian projects that involved a correspondingly massive expenditure of human life.  

From there, it’s to the river cruiser, where we check in and have lunch, the first of daily, gourmet meals. The cruiser doesn’t leave until evening, so we have another included tour, to another palace. This one is Catherine’s Palace, and it’s more impressive and enjoyable than the Peterhof. Generally, the tours that are included in the Viking tour seem better than the optional ones. They know what they are doing. I recognize the palace from the PBS series on Catherine the Great.

From there it’s back to the cruiser for dinner and formal greeting by the staff. It’s getting dark by the time the boat pulls away from the dock and begins the water-borne part of the trip. It’s too cold outside for anyone to hang out on the open sun-deck for long, but I go out there myself to get some fresh air and get a good look at the river and shore. I see some people on the shore with a bottle of wine and wave at them, they raise the bottle to me and shout something back in Russian. I assume it’s friendly.

Our stateroom is on the 2^nd-lowest level of four (the lowest is for the staff), with just a bay window rather than a veranda. Barb wanted a veranda, but when we signed up for the trip 8 months before, ours was the only stateroom available. Viking tells us at the time that it’s likely a stateroom with a veranda will open up via cancellation before the start date, but it never happens. As it turns out, it’s too cold outside to ever use a veranda anyway, and so we save a chunk of money J.

The ride is very stable, and we don’t even realize the boat is moving unless we look out the window. Good for sleeping. Maybe I’ll finally catch up.

Day 5

After a night smoothly traversing lake Ladoga, we awaken to find ourselves docked at the little rural settlement of Madrogny, a throwback to the 17^th – 18^th century. It reminds me of Williamsburg, VA, in that it’s intended to capture the life of the past for tourists. The buildings are all wooden and look centuries-old. The inhabitants dress like old-time peasants, and employ themselves in various time-honored crafts, like painting Matryoshka (nesting) dolls, wood carving, weaving, etc. There is even a doll-painting class for those on the tour that are interested, and a Russian sauna and massage experience (Banya). I opt for the sauna, but it’s already booked. We walk around the settlement for a while and enjoy the old-time feeling of the place. We watch the residents ply their crafts, take some pictures, and head back to the boat for lunch.

That night we encounter a storm on lake Onega. The boat sways from side to side and you can hear waves crashing over the side rails. I can’t sleep, but it doesn’t bother Barb. Finally, about 3:00AM, the ride smoothes out. Turns out the captain gets notified of 10-foot waves ahead and decides to head to port.  This means we have to skip the next stop on the tour, which is at Kizhi. It’s an outdoor museum of more ancient Russian architecture, a UNESCO site, pictures of which are featured on trip brochures. You’ve probably seen them somewhere. Bummer. Wanted to see it, but happy to be still afloat.

Day 6

This day is spent entirely on-board, as the excursion to Kizhi is cancelled. Two lectures on Russian history are given by the tour guides to fill the void, one on the Romanov dynasty, and one covering the Communist era (1917 – 1985). Barb attends both. I get there only for part of the Romanov one, as I have to fit in another nap J. The on-board lectures are all very interesting, as the guides are Russian and able to give the Russian, man-on-the-street perspective on things.

Barb starts to wonder if there is something wrong with me, I’m taking so many naps. Someone tells us that you only recover one hour a day from jet lag, and there is a nine hour time-zone difference between Minneapolis and St. Petersburg, so I figure I’m on schedule. The scenery along the shore this day is not very interesting. It’s a very remote area, without much sign of human habitation. The shore resembles northern Minnesota, with its combination of fir and birch trees. There are many locks and dams on the way, which slows down our passage. Moreover, the cabin is so cozy…zzzzzzzzz.

That night, as well as every other night on-board, there is plenty of partying after dinner, in the Sky Bar. Barb and I pass. We’re introverts. We need our space. I’m able to keep tabs on the U.S. debt-ceiling crisis and Minnesota Gopher football via the on-line StarTribune.

Day 7

This is one of the better days of the trip. We again awaken to find we are docked by some primitive wooden buildings, and now there’s snow on the ground (Sept. 30)! Barb likes the snow. It makes Russia look more like Russia. The first event of the day is a Viking show in one of the primitive buildings by the pier. It’s put on by a big, bearded guy, in Viking garb. The room is outfitted like a Viking throne room of the 10^th century. He explains how Russia was founded by Viking warriors, sailing into these same waterways from nearby Scandinavia. He picks people from our group to dress up in Viking garb and play the parts of warriors, king, and queen, up on the throne rostrum. He then sings a hearty Viking song, beating his wooden shield in rhythm. It’s touristy, but all in good fun.

At the end of the Viking show, we board buses for a short trip to the rural, small town of Kirillov, where we visit an ancient monastery. The monastery is large and picturesque. In its glory, it housed 400 monks, but now about 40. We don’t see any. Seems empty. But then again, they’re monks. I don’t expect they’d want to mingle with tourists. One thing that strikes me about this and two other monasteries/convents we see on the trip: they are all built like fortresses, with walls, gates, moat ditches, and turrets. Seems like the holy orders needed a lot of protection in those days. I guess that makes sense, as a fair amount of wealth was accumulated in such places, compared to the surrounding countryside.

Upon leaving the monastery, we are bused to a middle school. I didn’t expect this, and it’s a lot of fun to see the school kids and their classrooms. In one, we are given a musical performance by a young girl and boy dressed in traditional, peasant garb. She sings a Russian folk song as he accompanies her on the accordion. The other kids are loose in the hallways, having fun. It seems they were let out of class as we tourists entered the building. Some are having lunch in a lunchroom, so it’s probably lunch-break time. They are energetic, and in good spirits, but well-behaved. As we pass them by, on our way out of the building, some offer a shy “Hello.” They seem remarkably like American kids, except maybe for the well-behaved part. The town of Kirillov is rural, small, old, and a bit run-down. So why are these kids so happy? Go figure. Besides, it’s in the former Soviet Union. Nobody is supposed to be happy here!

Our guide tells us that the Russian government pays residents of such remote villages and towns 15% of their incomes just to live where they do.

One other memorable sight in the school is a large wall-poster with pictures of 16 adults, most in military uniform. Each of them had attended this school in their youth and was a hero of some sort during WWII. Memorials of WWII are omnipresent in Russia. That war touched the lives of almost everyone in this part of the country. The defeat of the invading Nazis in the 1940s and of the invading, Napoleon-led French in 1812 are sources of great and enduring pride here.

Leaving the school, we are bused back to the cruiser for lunch. After that, there is a visit to the Captain’s Bridge to see how the boat is operated. Captain Voronin explains things, through an interpreter, as one of his officers steers the boat. There is a lot of high-tech gear, and the captain endeavors to explain much of it. He apologizes to us for having had to dock the boat during the storm on lake Onega, and that, consequently, we won’t be able to see Kizhi.  I’d guess he’s about 40. He seems smart, capable, and diplomatic. The younger officer at the wheel, however, does not seem amused by our presence.

Filling out the afternoon is a lecture in the Sky Bar on “Gorbachev and Perestroika.” Seems Gorby is held in much higher esteem in the western nations than he is in Russia. Russians blame him for a chaotic period of deprivation and crime which followed in the wake of his reforms. They view Yeltsin in much the same light. Putin, on the other hand, is given credit for restoring the economy and some measure of civic order, even though he’s done it without much regard for personal freedoms.

           

After dinner, there is live music and a Vodka Tasting party in the Sky Bar. Barb and I characteristically pass, but are able to watch a video of the Vodka party the next day. The on-board hotel manager, Dieter, is the lead drinker, and, as we watch, he puts away about 6 shots of Vodka (and those are just the ones on camera) with a variety of drinking acrobatics. I’d be crawling back to my room after so many straight shots, but he’s up and around the next morning, showing no after-effects. I guess if you live in Russia, you learn to handle your Vodka.

Day 8

The ship is now navigating a large man-made body of water, the Rybinsk reservoir, constructed under Stalin from 1935-1941, and consequently many locks and dams. From St. Petersburg to Moscow, we traverse 15 locks and dams. At one time, the reservoir was the largest man-made body of water in the world. Massive projects of breakneck speed seem typical of the Russians. Remember their space program, and how they beat the U.S. to outer space? The reservoir was built by forced labor and without concern for the residents of nearby villages. The plan of flooding their villages was kept secret during construction. A gulag for prisoners forced to work on the project was established nearby. 663 villages were submerged when the reservoir was completed, and some 150,000 Russians more or less forcibly displaced. Some reportedly refused to move (must have either swum out or were drowned). No wonder that Russians are historically capable of such efforts: no red tape to contend with under a ruthless dictatorship! One reminder of the submerged villages is a famous church spire that, from a distance, seems to float on the water. It doesn’t float, though, because the rest of the church is under water. People crowd the railings to take a picture of this phenomenon as the cruiser approaches it. I’m the first one out there, but find that my camera’s battery is run down and I don’t get a shot. Well, you can’t photograph everything!

That noon we arrive in Yaroslavl, the largest town we visit on the way from St. Petersburg to Moscow. The tour starts with a visit to the Governor’s House, where a half-dozen 20-somethings, dressed in 18th - 19th century costume and accompanied by string instruments, perform formal, aristocratic dances, including the waltz. It’s all entertaining, and the young dancers are elegant. After a while, the boys pick our women in our group to dance with, and the girls pick men. Neither Barb nor I are asked. She’s standing back in the crowd, but I’m fairly visible. Damn. Is it the big camera hanging around my neck, or what!?

On the way to the house, there is an impressive WWII memorial, before which some residents, dressed in military garb, perform a short ceremony, laying down flowers, etc.

From there we’re bused to the central town market. It includes a large, food market, with counters piled-high with all kinds of fruit, vegetables, meat, pastries, seasonings, etc. It seems to have everything you’d find in an American supermarket, only it’s all fresh and nothing is canned or wrapped. We don’t buy anything, as the meals on the boat are more than enough for us. Next door to the food market is an outdoor clothes market. I’m surprised that Barb is looking to buy a hat, since she never wears one, but it’s a cold day. We barter a little bit, the saleslady shrugs in acceptance of a counter-offer, and I buy her the hat. Barb laughs when she sees some ladies’ underpants that are roughly made of course fabric and look like they’ve been worn. She regrets later that she didn’t buy a pair to bring home and give to somebody J.

Day 9

Another good day: for me the best of the trip. Again, we awaken to find the cruiser docked, this time right next to houses of the small rural town of Uglich (oo-glitch). Again, we break up into small groups, and ours takes a short walk to one of the houses visible from the cruiser. We are being hosted for morning tea by the owner, a 60-ish widow who lives there with her older female cousin, her dog, and her three cats. Her cousin had lost her own house to flooding (from the reservoir?). The hostess seems excited to have us there. Our guide is also local, a young woman who translates between the hostess and us.

The home is just what you might expect of a rural, Russian home. Lots of unfinished wood and wood carvings, and a table with samovars. The widow’s husband had been very artistic. He built the home on the foundation of a prior one which had been destroyed by fire. He also was a talented carver and painter, to which various artifacts in the home attest. She has a married daughter, who lives and works in Moscow, but comes to visit “every fortnight.” Moscow is about a 4-hour drive from Uglich, over a bad and busy highway. Both the hostess and her husband had been employed by the local watch factory, for which the town is known. The watches are reputed to be of high quality. She ended her career there as a manager of Quality Control, and now lives mostly on a pension that has proven insufficient. So, she makes ends meet by odd jobs, like hosting tourists. She has an expansive backyard garden and makes her own moonshine. There are decanters of it on the table and she encourages us to take a shot or two. I make a toast “to Russia,” that everyone joins in on, but I can’t drink the stuff. It’s 40% alcohol and it’s only 9:00AM! Just a sip is enough to convince me. Barb, always the good sport, knocks down a shot.

Looking around the place, you’d think you were in the 1800s, except for the large screen, LG TV in the corner of the living room (hey, winters have to be long in remote parts of Russia!). There is a door to an adjoining room with glass panes in the upper half. One pane is missing, and her cat has no problem jumping up to and through it. Impressive.

I’m also impressed by what looks like raw, newly-milled wood on the interior walls of the house and ask her if it hasn’t been finished with some kind of sealant. She replies that it’s indeed raw because Russians like to feel “close to nature.” She then removes a picture hung from the wall and explains that when the color of the wood behind the picture starts to appear lighter than the rest of the wall, then it will be time to apply some kind of sealer. I’m satisfied.

Leaving the house, we board a rickety bus for the short ride to the center of Uglich. The hostess hitches a ride with us. As she exits the bus, she bids us goodbye and hopes we take with us a “small part of Russia in our hearts.” It’s touching, but maybe it’s not an uncommon, parting sentiment in Russia, as our main tour guide says much the same thing when we later say goodbye at the Moscow airport. Just the same, it’s hard to imagine anyone saying something like that in America, certainly not anyone as poor as these people are. As Barb points out, they are a very “accepting” people, you might say fatalistic, and we see much evidence of love-of-country. Perhaps it’s the serf mentality.

 

At the center of the small town, we are greeted by another local guide. He is a young man in his 20s or early 30s, with a dry sense of humor. You have to listen carefully, or you’ll miss some of it. He is from Uglich, though he now works mostly in other cities, Yaroslavl being one of them. But he keeps coming back to Uglich, because he loves it. More evidence of love-of-country, because there’s not much to Uglich. He cautions us that it’s pronounced oo-glitch, not ug-lich, which connotes “ugly.” We proceed over a small bridge to yet another ancient church. Standing in the middle of the bridge and dressed in festive peasant garb, is a little old woman (70-ish) singing old Russian folk songs, mostly those with a plaintive air. She has a box for tips at her feet. It’s another touching scene, remindful of one from a Fellini movie.

We arrive at the church, where we are treated to a formal singing performance by six men, dressed in black. They sing more Russian folk songs, including a spirited rendition of the familiar “Volga Boatman.” Great voices. I’m especially impressed by the deepest bass voice I think I’ve ever heard.

Leaving the church, we are led to a gift shop (the usual last stop on any local tour), where you can buy those intricately-painted and lacquered, wooden boxes that are uniquely Russian. They’re expensive, but not nearly so much as the same kind of thing sold at the Russian Art Museum of Minneapolis. Barb can’t pass up a good deal and buys one.

On the way back to the center of town, I tip the old lady still singing in the middle of the bridge.

The tour being over, we enter a watch shop at the center of town. Barb starts to look at watches, with no help from the dour shop-lady, who sits behind the counter with a stone expression. But as soon as Barb shows interest in a particular watch, the shop-lady lights up. In the meantime, I engage the now off-duty tour guide in conversation about what he does when not leading tours. He explains he has a variety of part-time jobs, not unlike a lot of recent college grads in the US. Barb buys a watch.

We walk back to the cruiser along rows of street vendors. More bargains. Barb buys a sweater and a tablecloth. It’s been a good shopping day. I begin to wonder if we have room in the luggage for all this stuff.

We’re back on the cruiser for lunch. This is followed by a lecture on “Putin, Medvedev, and the Russian economy.” Pretty good, with allusion to the fact that Russia today is controlled by a very rich oligarchy: 5% of the populace own most of the wealth, and 95% remain relatively poor. Hmmm, isn’t it 1% and 99%, respectively, in the US? Not exactly. The U.S. 99% are considerably better off as a whole: many more, and better, private houses for one thing. Moreover, organized crime is more pervasive here than in the U.S.  The guide tells us that you can’t buy anything in Russia without organized crime getting its cut. Despite all this, the Russians are pleased with Putin. The economy has been much better since he took control (trickle-down?), and crime and corruption have been lessened. It’s suspected that he has had some dissenters eliminated, however. It’ll never be proven, the guide tells us, “it’s KGB.”

Following this lecture, there’s a lesson on the Russian language. Barb attends, I retreat to the cabin. No Cyrillic alphabet for me, life’s too short. That night it’s the “captain’s dinner," followed by more live music in the Sky-Bar, as the cruiser leaves for Moscow. 

Day 10

We begin to see more large-scale urban development as the cruiser approaches Moscow. As in St. Petersburg, a lot of apartment buildings, not many houses. We traverse the Moscow Canal, linking the Volga and Moscow rivers. Our tour book claims that construction of the canal was a project “far greater than either the Panama or Suez Canal,” and yet was completed in just 5 years under Stalin. Another massive, and relatively speedy, project.

We get to Moscow after lunch. That afternoon, there is an included Moscow City Tour. Our local guide, a young man named Boris, speaks pretty good English. Some of this tour is a blur now. There is so much to see that he keeps our heads turning left and right as he points things out (Bolshoi Theater here, KGB headquarters there, etc.).

At the beginning of the tour, the bus traverses an old, main thoroughfare of Moscow, where the aristocracy lived in the 18^th and 19^th centuries. It’s a fairly narrow street. We pass Tolstoy’s house, where he lived with his wife and 13 children. I make a mental note to visit it later. The bus stops at a famous landmark, the Novodevichy Convent and Cemetery, but we don’t go in. This is a restroom break, as there is a public restroom in the park across the street. Too bad we don’t spend some time here, because the convent is historically famous, e.g. as the place where Peter the Great incarcerated his older sister after he took the czar’s crown from her. Also, the cemetery includes the graves of many famous Russians, including those of Khrushchev and Yeltsin. I don’t know why we traveled so far just to photograph the outside of a walled compound and take a restroom break.      

The bus next stops on Sparrow Hills, one of the highest points in Moscow. From there we have a panoramic view of the city. Also on this hill is Moscow State University, housed in one of the seven, majestic, and nearly identical skyscrapers built by Stalin. Until 1990, it was the tallest building in Europe. There is a wedding photo shoot taking place by the wall at the top of the hill, one of many outdoor, wedding photo sessions we see taking place while in Russia. At one point, the groom ascends the wall with the help of his bride and stands on his head with his legs spread apart in the air. It’s about a 10-foot drop on the other side, to a steep hill. If he were to fall, and survive, he’d be rolling for awhile. You’ve got to admire his ardor, or his ability to hold his Vodka, or both. I suppose recently-betrothed Americans have done similar things somewhere, but I’ve never seen one.

We board the bus again and continue on to a subway (Metro) station for a ride to the Kremlin. Down in the subway tunnel, we descend an escalator so long you can’t see the end of it from the top. Russians coming up as we go down stare blankly at us. Geez, do we look like tourists? How do they know? We descend to a picturesque tunnel, elegantly decorated. The Moscow subway is reputed to be one of the most beautifully decorated in the world. They have a strong artistic sense, these people. We walk to the end of it, where there is a brightly colored mural of General Kutusov conferring with generals during the 1812 war against the French and Napoleon. I doubt you’d see anything like it in an American subway.

I neglected to bring my audio receiver with me, so I can’t always hear the guide and I begin to be a little apprehensive as to how this group of 20 or so will be able to stick together on the crowded subway cars. Boris points out the Cyrillic-lettered name of the stop we are to get off at, and I try to memorize it. The train comes and we cram onto it, much like boarding the Manhattan, 42^nd Street Shuttle at rush hour. One elderly, frail member of our group is a little slow to get on and I grab him and haul him on. I keep holding onto him for awhile. The Russians avoid eye-contact, but you know they are looking us over.

I next try to recognize the four intervening stops, but can’t. Finally, I realize I’m reading the stop list in the wrong direction, and am relieved. We get to our stop and Boris, who had been on a different car, counts everyone in the group. No one is missing. A few people in the group, including Barb, think it too risky for this ride to have been included at a busy subway time, but I’m glad to have done it. Another group from our cruiser did have a problem, though, as a few didn’t get off at the right stop and the rest of the group had to wait 40 minutes before the stragglers figured it out, got off, and caught another train coming back.

The subway art in the destination station is just as impressive as at the start, as each archway is flanked by large bronze statues depicting WWII soldiers, both male and female. There is a bronze dog by one, whose nose is bright gold, from having been rubbed by passers-by for good luck. Boris takes the occasion to call attention to the determined looks in the eyes of the bronze soldiers. The message? “Don’t mess with Soviet Union,” he explains - another instance of national pride.

We emerge from the subway to find ourselves a short walk from Red Square, the site of all those May Day military parades of the 50s and 60s, including, as they did, nuclear weapons. We can’t go into the square though, as it’s being set up as part of the preparation for the 2014 Winter Olympics. Red Square in next to the Kremlin, but outside it (I didn’t know that!). On the other side of it is the famous GUM department store. I had always had the impression that it was a massive, but run-down place, with its shelves sparsely stocked, but it’s not anything like that. It’s more like the Mall of America, but with more high-toned shops. I imagine only the most well-heeled Muscovites can shop there, the 5%.

The clothing styles are interesting. For young women the preferred form of dress seems to be high-heeled, knee-high, black boots, short skirts and short fur jackets, especially the boots. We see one woman wearing boots that appear to me to have 6-inch heels. Barb tells me they’re 8 inches. For young men, we see a lot of black leather jackets, black trousers, and black skull caps. Black seems to a favorite color among the young here.

At the end of Red Square, also outside the Kremlin, is famous St. Basil’s Cathedral. Colonel Trent, a soft-spoken, right-wing, former U.S. Army Colonel in “Special Ops” (or so he tells us), from North Carolina, takes pictures of Barb and me. Barb keeps baiting him throughout the trip about how we are from a “blue” state. He feigns horror at such information. At least I think he’s feigning.

From there it’s back to the cruiser by bus. We had signed up for a “Moscow by Night” tour that follows dinner, but we pass when its time to go. One tour a day is enough for us, we both agree. You can’t do everything.

Day 11

This morning is check-out time on the cruiser. Our luggage is transported to our Moscow hotel, the Radisson Royal, while we hop on the bus for another tour. The cruiser staff is generous with many smiles, goodbyes, and other friendly sentiments. Generosity from us is expected in the form of healthy tips. I get rid our all our Euros this way. We didn't have any use for them outside the Amsterdam airport. 

The tour today is to the Kremlin. Wait a minute. Weren’t we just there? Yes, we saw it from outside, but we weren’t inside. Today we are to go inside. Our guide today is Andrey, the chief Viking tour guide. He’s been with us the entire trip. He's the easiest of all the guides to listen to, and the most informative. No wonder his bus was always the first one full! All the guides were pretty good though, and they worked hard.

The tour inside the Kremlin is mildly interesting. We walk around and look at the stately buildings, the President’s residence here, his office building there, but we don’t go into any of them (no “Napoleon slept here” moment). Surprisingly, there are some onion-domed churches within the Kremlin walls. As destructive as the communists were of churches throughout Russia, they left these standing, right at the center of government. We are told they were used as museums during the communist years, but museums of what? What they mostly contain is religious icons. Earlier (I think in Uglich), our guide tells us that the soviets hid the icons behind drapes, but we aren’t told what they displayed instead of icons in these “museums.” Maybe an old rickety, 1930s tractor, like the one we saw displayed outside a church in Uglich, but even a dictator as ruthless as Stalin couldn’t totally eradicate religion from Russia.

Andrey tells us that there seems to be a code for government cars at the capital. They are all black sedans, and either BMWs or Mercedes. We see evidence of this as we walk along. There is hardly anyone else on the streets of the Kremlin but tourists and police. Occasionally, we see someone in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase and hustling along, but not many. I guess it’s much the same in D.C.

We exit the Kremlin to have lunch in the nearby Arbat shopping district, stopping at a Moscow McDonalds to use the restrooms (most public restrooms in Russia are coin-operated, and who has the right change?). Andrey suggests the Moo-Moo cafeteria (My-My in Russian), complete with Holstein white-and-black color patterns. No one on the serving line speaks English. You mostly just point and nod. I ask for “Borsht” soup and that is understood. Barb, ahead of me in line, gets the last shish kabob on the grill (what!?).

Following this late lunch, we are transported by bus again to our Moscow hotel, now The Radisson Royal, but two years ago The Ukrania. It’s a majestic building, 30 stories high, one of seven nearly identical towers that Stalin had built (aka “The Seven Sisters” [Stalin actually had seven sisters]). As aforementioned, one of them houses Moscow State University on Sparrow Hills. You can see one or more of them from most spots in Moscow, but you better not take your bearings from any of them, as you are likely to be confused as to which is which. The hotel lobby is as plush as can be. It includes several high-toned and, presumably, high-buck shops, selling furs, jewelry, etc. The only place I can compare it to is Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles. It even includes a Rolls-Royce showroom, for crying out loud! How can Viking River Cruises afford to put us up here?

The hotel room is also plush, with all the amenities. We are on the 8^th floor, with an expansive view of Moscow and the Moscow river. Right across the river is the Russian Parliament building, which President Yeltsin had bombarded from tanks situated on the road next to the hotel, in 1991. Andrey sadly informs us that the hotel was used to care for wounded during this constitutional crisis. 178 people were killed and many more wounded. Most of the places we have been in Russia are marked by some scene of political struggle and bloodshed. What a country! Evidence everywhere of great wealth, great poverty, great spirit, and great suffering. I guess you can say something similar about the U.S., but Russia seems to have a corner on the great suffering part.

At 6:00PM we board the bus again to be transported to a Russian Classical Folk Concert. Darkness descends as we walk across a canal bridge to get to the concert hall. The bridge is unusual in that it has a row of small trees, each decorated with replicas of keyed locks and notes, put there by marrying couples to express their commitments to each other. There are a lot of these trees. They line the boulevard along the canal, as well as the bridge. I take a picture to take back to my wedding-photographer son.

The concert is terrific. One of the best things we see in Russia. All the musicians look to be in their early 20s, dressed in formal attire. They play a variety of instruments, many of them uniquely Russian. Their skill is amazing. There is great singing also. It’s the last organized tour, and a fitting one.

We get back to the hotel around 10:00PM.

Day 12

I remember this day mostly for mishaps. It’s our last full day in Russia, and we are on our own - no more Viking tour arrangements. About the only thing that goes as planned is the hotel breakfast buffet, which, as usual, is lavish.

I want to see Leo Tolstoy’s house, now a museum, which we had passed earlier on our bus trip to the Novodevichy Convent. Barb is coming down with a cold, but wants to go also. The Concierge calls us a taxi, but when we get to the museum, it doesn’t look like what I fleetingly remember. It’s a Tolstoy museum, all right, but it’s the Tolstoy Literary Museum, not Tolstoy’s house. By the time I realize the mistake, the cab driver is gone. When we are done touring this museum, which is mildly interesting, we can’t get anyone at the museum to call another cab for us. Nobody speaks English, and they all just shrug when I try to get them to call a “taxi.” We try calling the hotel, but with no luck. I forget that the little “+” in front of the number, must be dialed as a “01” (so why don’t they just print a “01” instead of a “+”?). We have a map, so we start walking. We walk about 3-4 miles and get to the Kremlin, at St. Basil’s again. We decide to buy tickets and see the inside of St. Basil’s. This is a disappointment. As famous as the church is from the outside, the inside is less interesting than almost all the other churches we have seen. It seems to be just a maze of little rooms, or chapels. Later I read that there is a larger room that’s surrounded by the smaller ones, but we never find it.

By this time, Barb is tired. I need to find us transportation back to the hotel, which is about a 1 ½ hour walk from the Kremlin. While she rests at a Starbuck’s, I search for the subway station we were at just two days before. I’m gone about a half hour but can’t find the station. I go down in a random subway tunnel and walk about a couple city blocks, but can’t find the right train or any helpful list of stops. I’m beginning to feel like I’m in a scene of pyschological torture from a Dostoyevsky novel, but it gets worse. I go back and get Barb and we try to find a hotel in which to get the Concierge to call us a cab. Barb sees a Tourist Information sign (in English!) and we ask at the desk for the clerk to call us a cab. He seems unnerved by the request, and spends the next 30-40 minutes trying to call one for us. Finally, he says we “must wait longer.” We bolt out of there and revert to plan B (or C).

I was warned at the hotel about using cabs parked on the street. There aren't many anyway, but I see a few and ignore the warning. I show the drivers the hotel business card and ask if they can get us there (it’s only about 12 blocks away) for 1000 rubles (what we paid to get to the museum). Having left the hotel in the morning with 4000 rubles ($130), we only have 1400 rubles left. One driver nods and motions for us to get in. Ah, relief! Except after 5 minutes he starts trying to explain with hand gestures that, because of traffic, the fare might be more than 1000 rubles. and we immediately get into a large traffic jam. Traffic is a huge problem in Moscow. It's apparent that new-found prosperity has brought with it many more cars and drivers. After about 30 minutes of virtual immobility, he circles around and we are at the same spot where he picked us up! He finally heads off in the right direction, flicks off the meter, and announces “2000 rubles.” I protest that the price had been 1000 rubles, but I don’t argue too much. I want to get back to the hotel. It seems like he takes credit cards anyway.

He then swerves off the main drag and onto a narrow street in an unfamiliar neighborhood (I’m thinking, is this a shakedown?). He finally stops the cab, and it’s in front of a Radisson hotel, but the Radisson "Blue" not the Radisson "Royal" (maybe he can’t read the English business card!). He finally gets us to the Royal, but only after we have been in the cab for about an hour, all to go 12 blocks! He stops and announces “2000 rubles” again. I tell Barb to get out and I give him 1000 rubles. He waves it away and we engage in a heated exchange, him in Russian and me in English. I leave the 1000 rubles in the cab and walk to the hotel entrance. He shouts something about the “policeoi,” but doesn’t try to follow us. I don't know. A deal's a deal. 

We ate dinner that night at the hotel, not wanting to venture out any more. Later, Barb tells me that she enjoyed “every second” of the trip, even our misadventures on this last full day! Wow, you can’t argue with success. I agree that it was memorable.

Day 13

It’s the last day. Time to head for home, but not until after one more hit on that breakfast buffet!

It’s a warm and sunny day, the best weather we see on the whole trip. As we approach the airport, about 30 miles outside Moscow, Andrey points out a large monument, which marks the closest point the Nazis got to Moscow in WWII.

The 10-hour flight from Moscow to JFK in New York is easier to take than the 8-hour one from Minneapolis to Amsterdam. For one thing, it’s in the daytime. For another, we now know what to expect.

When we get to JFK, however, we have a heck of a time making our connection to Minneapolis in the 1 hour and 45 minutes we have. First, we have to walk about a mile to retrieve and recheck our luggage. Then its Passport Control, Security (again with the full pat-down), Customs – they all take time. Finally we reach the gate, but it’s just a shuttle gate, and we have to be bused a couple miles to another terminal. We are just about the last passengers on the plane, if not the last. Back in Minneapolis, Betsy and Matt pick us up and drive us home.

Whew! Quite a trip. It’s surreal being in two such different environments on the same day, or even the same month. After a few days at home, the whole thing seems like a dream.

The trip was well worth the cost. It may be a time-worn platitude to say so, but the Russians are more like us than not. A trip like this makes the Cold War and nuclear armaments seem all the more insane. I highly recommend Viking River Cruises. They did a great job. Barb loves Russia, and wants to go back.